


Lions and Tigers and Dogs, Oh My!

by friendoftheJabberwock



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Dogs, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Shran and Porthos were the best characters on ENT, So here they are in one fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:52:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25151176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendoftheJabberwock/pseuds/friendoftheJabberwock
Summary: Thy'lek Shran can handle just about anything - except dogs, as it turns out.He was indebted to Archer – again. He had told the pink skin that he would repay him in any way he could. Shran had of course meant aid in battle or sharing intelligence or… something. Something other than dog sitting.
Relationships: Jonathan Archer & Porthos (Star Trek), Jonathan Archer & Thy'lek Shran, Porthos (Star Trek) & Thy'lek Shran
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	1. Inconceivable!

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

Thy'lek Shran stared at the note from Jonathan Archer in disbelief. His left antennae began to twitch.

He was indebted to Archer – again. He had told the pink skin that he would repay him in any way he could. By 'any way' Shran had of course meant aid in battle or sharing intelligence or… something. Something other than dog sitting.

Archer wanted him to take care of his dog. His _dog._

Shran had last encountered such a beast when his parents hosted a merchant who had somehow acquired a dog as a pet. A pet? He had been only a young boy then, but the memory still loomed large in his mind – tiptoeing past the guest bedroom to escape the notice of that enormous slobbering beast and its barks and growls and those horrible teeth.

He snapped back to reality and chided himself. You were a child. Hardly more than an infant, he thought. The dog had only _seemed_ massive, and, well, terrifying.

But why did the human captain have a dog? Why not a fluffy rabbit? He had read about rabbits, and they seemed like a rather charming possibility. Or ferrets? Or even a cat?

Well, that was just wishful thinking. Shran reached for his ushaan-tor and practiced a few strokes to make himself feel a bit better. Yes. He was a commander of the Imperial Guard, not a child.

But still… Archer kept one of _those?_ Inconceivable.

Shran continued reading. So it was only for a few days while Archer was negotiating with a species that had been found to be almost universally allergic to certain Earth animals. The human would be arriving – tomorrow?! – to deliver the creature.

Shran logged into the database of Imperial Guard in the vain hope of finding the tactical information he needed to prepare for this mission, but the database knew nothing about dogs (an enviable situation, Shran decided). But this was not good. This was not good at all.

He was heading into battle with hardly any information about the enemy's – er, human pet's – weaknesses, military tactics, or even general characteristics, other than that it was terribly proficient in psychological warfare. Shran could only hope that it would not prove to be so skilled in combat.

* * *

_The next day:_

"Commander Shran! It's good to see you again – and, for once, in peaceful circumstances."

The circumstances, Shran thought, were very much a matter of opinion. The dog stood slightly behind Archer, looking thoroughly harmless and rather smaller than Shran had envisioned. This demeanor, however, was likely a ruse to trick Shran into lowering his shields and powering down weapons and would probably be followed by a surprise attack. He had seen such a strategy many times and was somewhat comforted that the creature didn't seem to be a particularly inventive tactician. Archer himself appeared oddly relaxed, perhaps ignorant of the imminent threat.

"Of course! And this is the dog?" Good. Keep the conversation natural and avoid any unnatural emphasis of the word dog. Make it think you're falling for its trap.

Archer grinned. "Yes indeed. Porthos, this is Commander Shran – he'll be taking care of you for a couple of days."

Archer was speaking to the dog, so it was definitely an intelligent lifeform, as Shran had suspected.

"I see. Would you care for a glass of our excellent ale before you go?" Excellent. Be courteous, even in such a state of adversity.

"I wish I could, but I'm already running late. We're helping with a border dispute – I can't provide many more details, it's classified – but we keep hearing from Starfleet Command that both parties are really stubborn and refuse to budge. Sound familiar?"

"Slightly." Vulcans are obnoxiously stubborn, naturally, but Andorians? Never. "Although I would describe our species instead as… persistent."

"Of course. Well, Porthos gets fed twice a day, and don't give him any cheese no matter how much he begs for it."

Shran wondered what this _cheese_ was – perhaps some sort of weapon or ammunition? That would certainly explain why the creature wasn't allowed any.

Archer continued, "I'm quite sure he will enjoy exploring Andor – he's always enjoyed walks." More like intelligence-gathering missions, in Shran's view. "Well, I'd better head back to my ship. Everything you'll need is in this box, and I'm sure you'll have fun with Porthos."

That was certainly one way of putting it.

Archer handed Shran the box of supplies and gave Porthos a final scratch behind the ears. "I'll be back the day after tomorrow."

"Good luck with your negotiations, human."

"Thank you, Commander." Archer hurried off.

Shran walked the dog back inside knelt next to it. The human had done something to the creature – patted it or something – and this had excited it somehow. Or at least its rear appendage had started wiggling. On one hand, if Shran attempted such a maneuver it might alert the dog to the potential of a future attack, but it might also provide some badly needed insight into the dog's responses to stimuli and danger. And so Shran extended his hand to the creature ever so slowly.

He just about jumped out of his blue skin when the creature sniffed him. Its proboscis was unexpectedly _wet_ , which on a mostly icy planet was definitely unnerving. However the dog didn't seem menacing yet, so Shran forced himself to continue the mission. He touched the thing's head, right behind the ears, and scratched it just a bit.

The creature still looked perfectly harmless, surprisingly enough. Shran continued to pet it. And then the dog looked right at him, pricked up his ears, and started that weird flapping thing again with its tail.

For a moment all Shran could see was that merchant's dog in all its terrifying glory – but no. This time the dog was looking back at him like a new friend. The dog (Poppy? Porpoise? Something with a 'P', curse it!) wasn't looking for surrender, it was looking for more scratches.

Well, that could be arranged. "Just know," Shran growled, "that I'm supposed to be writing a mission report right now. But fine. If I didn't know better I'd say you're too cute to turn down."

* * *

_That night:_

Shran had spent the day making friends with a creature of his nightmares, and it had been a thoroughly confusing experience. He hadn't been bitten or mauled or maimed in any way, and in fact the dog almost seemed to like him. All good things, of course, but the whole experience was somewhat exhausting. He'd deal with Portia again in the morning when he was rested.

He was about to head to bed when he heard a faint noise. Paradigm was slumped by the door, looking rather dejected and whimpering periodically.

Shran found himself desperately wanting to fix the situation. What was wrong? He'd fed Porcupine, given him some water, taken him for a short walk outside, and generally paid far more attention to the creature than he had intended. But the dog was sad – terribly sad. It was missing Archer, Shran realized.

"You want Archer – that crazy human? What on Andor do you see in him?"

Pachelbel unleashed another mournful whine.

"Right, right, fair point. I'm too attached to him myself. Seeing as we have that at least in common, maybe I can substitute for the time being."

He picked up the dog – somewhat gingerly at first, but it didn't seem to mind very much – and carried it back to his bedroom and gently deposited it at the foot of his bed.

"Well, here you are. I'm going to sleep – this means that you have to keep your little mouth shut. And stop looking so pleased. I'm only doing this for some peace and quiet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as a dumb idea my brain concocted when it should have been asleep. Actually, that's what all my fics are - unleashing my 2am brain on unsuspecting internet strangers. I regret everything and nothing.
> 
> Part two of two will be posted in the next week.


	2. A Good Dog

_The next morning:_

Shran was in the engineering section of his ship, inspecting a coolant leak with his chief engineer. She was explaining the problem in great detail, and meanwhile Shran was paying less and less attention until he thought he might just about fall asleep on his feet. That damned coolant kept dripping down and down from a pipe overhead and landing on one of his antennae, which was growing rather wet.

But no – wait – the liquid wasn't dripping onto him, something was wiping it.

What?!

He opened his eyes to discover Porthos ( _that_ was his name! finally!) looming above him. The dog was licking him. Specifically, Porthos was licking the antenna that had only just finished growing back.

This was a rather sensitive subject for Shran.

What if the dog was doing more than just licking? What if he'd have to endure still more months of being snickered at by every lifeform in sight while it grew back?

And so it happened that poor Porthos, who only wanted some breakfast, found himself being practically flung across the room by a certain Andorian.

Still in panic, Shran ran to the nearest mirror. His antenna was intact. His dignity, however, was most certainly not. Especially after he noticed that Porthos was crouched in a corner and looking terribly remorseful and terribly confused.

"Oh. Um… Good morning! Excellent weather today!"

Porthos did not look particularly reassured.

"Fine. Fine! I'm sorry. You're really not a bad creature. In fact, I might like you, except that I don't. It's just that we Andorians are rather fond of our antennae. Will you consider this debt repaid if I feed you?"

* * *

_That afternoon:_

Giving Porthos his breakfast had indeed led to renewed diplomatic relations. The two parties had entered a period of détente, which had been maintained throughout the morning. It was mildly strained by a late lunch delivery – Porthos considered his requests to be paramount to all others, up to and including a discussion about the latest military directives with none other than the Chancellor herself.

Shran had duly noted that the dog seemed rather preoccupied with itself. The irony! When he had very much desired tactical information about the dog's characteristics and weaknesses, he had none, and now that there was an abundance available it appeared to no longer be necessary.

All this was far from Shran's mind at the moment, though. His most recent mission had been to a observe a distant binary star system – both stars had been predicted to become supernovae almost simultaneously due to their startling high neutrino emission rates, and the effect of two supernovae in such close proximity had not been previously researched in any sort of detail.

In other words, it had been a science mission, and so Shran had been somewhat out of his depth. But unfortunately he was still responsible for producing a mission report for his superiors, and the work was so far consisted of haphazardly pasting in passages written by the mission scientists and trying to weave together a coherent report while trying to sound as though he actually knew what the heck he was talking about.

Finding the motivation to make any sort of progress was therefore rather difficult. He tried taking a break for a few minutes to refresh his brain. An hour later he still hadn't gotten back to work. He tried forcing himself to work for just twenty minutes, but five minutes in was already thoroughly distracted by a fascinating article his chief engineer had sent him about the history of the development of the warp engine on Andoria.

Eventually he remembered something the human Archer had once brought him that had languished in the back of a drawer ever since. Shran had given Archer a bottle of Andorian ale, which the pink skin had grown rather fond of, and in exchange Archer gave him a bag of brownish powder that he called coffee. Apparently it was a legal neurostimulant commonly consumed by humans. At the time Shran thought it looked thoroughly disgusting – now, however, he was desperate enough to perhaps give it a try.

He located the bag and opened it. It smelled and looked like Earthly dirt – perhaps it was. He tasted a pinch of it, and decided it also tasted like bitter dirt and got stuck in his teeth. Humans truly were as crazy as he had thought. But Archer, he now recalled, had mentioned something about it being a hot drink – he must be consuming it incorrectly, then. He boiled some water, dumped in some grounds, and stirred it a bit.

He tried sipping the witch's brew. It was worse than he expected – bitter, stinking, nauseous puddle-water was in fact his precise impression. He nearly spat it out until he noticed that Porthos had wandered in and was staring at him.

Andor forbid that he look like a fool yet again in front of such a formidable creature as a dog.

And so he raised his mug, silently toasted Porthos, and drank the rest of it in one gulp. He nearly gagged, but fear of humiliation is a powerful psychological motivator, especially among arrogant (er, persistent!) species such as the Andorians.

In a few minutes, however, he began to understand why humans were so fond of such an unappetizing drink. Its effects were perhaps also heightened by the rapid rate of Andorian metabolism. He still didn't want to work on that infernal report, but it was no longer because he felt drowsy or unmotivated – instead, he didn't want to sit still in front of his computer.

This, Shran decided, was a clearly a change for better. He simply had to figure out how to channel his newfound energy, rather than search desperately for it and probably fail. And all this was due to the presence of a _dog._ Unbelievable! It had been actually helpful for once. Shran practically danced over to grab a bag of dog treats and tossed a few to Porthos.

"Good dog!"

It had slipped out of his mouth without any sort of warning, and Shran really didn't know how he felt about that.

"What I _intended_ to say was…" He fished around for something plausible, but came up short. "Good… good… dog. Yes. You are a good dog. More treats for you."

* * *

_That evening:_

Aside from the rather inauspicious start, it had been a rather productive day. Shran had made considerable progress on two fronts: the accursed mission report was almost coherent now, and he was coming to terms with the shocking idea that he might actually enjoy the dog's company. He was certain that this was the result of advanced psychological manipulation, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Porthos – if you ever get sick of that foolish human of yours – ours, actually – be sure stop by Andoria again. I'm sure some arrangements could be made for your… continued residence, perhaps? In the mean time I'll try to locate some of that _cheese_ stuff I hear you're so fond of."

* * *

_The next morning:_

Shran was packing up the extra dog food and treats in anticipation of Archer's imminent arrival to pick up Porthos. Porthos, seeming to sense that something was happening, was bouncing around the house and all over Shran.

Just two short days ago Shran figured he probably would have barricaded himself in his bedroom and occasionally slipped food through the door if Porthos had been behaving in such a seemingly alarming manner. Now, however, he simply handed the dog a few more treats and a tolerant pat on the head. Because why ever not?

A knock interrupted their play. Shran answered the door – and this time, he didn't have to fake a calm demeanor.

"Archer! It's excellent to see you, as always. Were your negotiations successful?"

"Not entirely, but both parties have agreed to continue talking and cease firing – the specifics can be ironed out another time. More importantly –" He laughed. "How is Porthos? I trust he wasn't too much of a burden."

Shran found that he could honestly answer. "A burden? Never. I confess I was a bit unsure at first…"

"Yes you were! I noticed."

Curse it. "But our diplomatic negotiations, so to speak, were quite successful. I think he'll be very pleased to return to his human, though."

"Of course. Thank you for looking after him."

"Any time, pink skin."

Porthos bounded over to Archer, who happily hugged him. "I hope our paths cross again soon."

"I do as well."

Shran waved goodbye to them both as they walked to a waiting shuttle. Porthos turned momentarily, and looked to Shran – who smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shran's description of coffee ("bitter, stinking, nauseous puddle-water") is stolen (er, borrowed) from the  
> [1674 Women's Petition Against Coffee](https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Women's_Petition_against_Coffee), which may or may not have actually been written by women but includes some very funny descriptions.
> 
> And I posted Chapter 2 on schedule! Yay! Thanks very much for reading this wacky little fic.


End file.
